Sunday, 3 May 2009

The Predator

Its her eyes that grab me first.

I see her curse

If she gets beat.

This girl is living defensive heat.

The rest of her life on hold.

An expression ice cold.

Diving on every loose ball.

Basketball is her whole.

Leaping out of bounds to save it.

Supercharged, this game, she craves it.

Whatever affects her at home,

Within this rectangle she's in her zone.

This is her patch.

Off it, her catch

Is life's problems with which she deals.

On the court, for her, basketball heals.

Every frustration in her life

Is slashed with a knife.

For four quarters

She's not a daughter

A woman

A human

Black or white

She's right

Where she wants to be,

High on intensity.


Body magic.

Outside of those skinny or fat debates,

She trains and looks at what she ate,

To highly tune her machine,

Strong yet lean.

Proud to look in the mirror

Knowing she's honed herself for superior

Definition to beat herself and her competitors.

That's why on the court she feels better than ya.

No late nights, drugs, or partying.

The epitome of discipline.

And you pay the price for her self control,

When her game reveals to you her soul.

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